


The Death of a Leader

by JJ_Hill



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Reform!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:23:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ_Hill/pseuds/JJ_Hill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Dalton Reform School for Boys in Westerville, Ohio, the balance of power is split up into three territories— the North, West, and South. The is home to a number of boys sent to Dalton for crimes ranging from petty theft to manslaughter and each detainee is trained by his respective wing in their area of combat expertise. </p><p>When a member of the West Wing is found dead, the three leaders meet in the dead of night to discuss possible courses of action. Three boys show up, two leave and only one is unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of a Leader

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr asking for anything Kuntbastian (Kurt, Hunter and Sebastian). The text is much longer than I anticipated and could use refining, but I had a blast working on it and really enjoyed slipping in details from Glee canon.

Kurt bent down, bangs that had been perfectly styled at the beginning of the night falling into his eyes as he wiped the blade of his knife on his victims jeans, the polished silver flashing in the moonlight drifting through the window. Straightening, Kurt looked around, surveying the room. It was a small bedroom, a single solitary bed against one wall, pillows, folded sheets and blankets stacked neatly on the bare mattress. The desk was bare as well and if Kurt took the time to open the closet doors, it would reveal an empty rack with cold steel hangers, no clothes hanging from them.

His victim had been a member of the West Wing, under the leadership of Hunter Clarington, the supposedly straight, rogue military school disgrace. The boy who lay bleeding was a lowly pawn, not one of much use to Clarington, weak fighter, little to no contacts and skill-less when it came to guns. His presence wouldn’t be missed by the west wing’s leadership and it would be several days before his disappearance would reach the ears of Clarington’s inner circle. He would be of more use to Kurt in death than he ever would be to his leader living.

Kurt’s prison, Dalton Reform Academy, was a large imposing brick building surrounded by black iron gates and cyclone fences topped with razor wire; bars lined the windows and both the inside and outside were monitored via strategically placed security cameras that broadcasted a live feed to the security office on the ground floor. The design of the building was simple, a cube shaped building five stories tall, the middle of the building was a courtyard roughly the size of a football field.  Here the boys could spend time outside playing basketball, smoking or else plotting always under the watchful eye of guards.  In the middle of the courtyard, a large cross had been spray painted onto the asphalt; at each point of the cross a letter single letter had been painted, corresponding with a compass and a wing of the building.

The South Wing, administration.

This area was a neutral zone, no fighting was allowed. Located here was the front door, the therapist offices, classrooms, cafeteria, infirmary, security office and other miscellaneous places that kept the school running. It was here where people came and went, needing to pass through security on the way in and out, scanners and x-ray machines similar to the ones found at airports.

The West Wing, territory of Hunter Clarington.

Members of the West Wing were known to be extremely strong and their best weapon was brute strength; it was a well-known fact that Clarington always had a supply of steroids at hand and a stash of stolen injection syringes in his closet, always willing to inject his boys to give them an edge.

Their kills were usually due to broken ribs puncturing lungs or the heart or else a snapped neck, a clean and effective technique. Of course, their preference to close combat usually led them to leave fights injured and they had a disadvantage when their opponents used long range weapons but there were few students who could out run a boy from the West Wing.

East Wing, territory of Sebastian Smythe.

The East Wing’s leader was a tall, imposing boy who had supposedly spent time working as a member of the French Underworld, often conducting business in the back of clubs. Smythe’s parents, well to do business people caught wind of their son’s dealings and shipped him to Dalton where he took control of the East Wing when former leader, Wes Montgomery was released. He quickly restructured their system, replacing the tri-council leadership to that of a single leader, himself.

Boys from the east wing were known for their cunning deception and poisons, their mixtures were almost untraceable. It was a common rule around Dalton, don’t take a drink or eat anything if you don’t know where it came from; East Wing boys were known to sneak into the cafeteria after hours and spike juice for the next morning breakfast. These poison’s normally didn’t kill anyone, not unless it was mixed for a specific target, but they were very efficient at causing a large number to become sick, weakening their opponents forces. It was rumored that Smythe could concoct over a hundred mixtures all based around rock salt, an ingredient that was easily found in the kitchen. Of course naturally, this meant that their combat fighting skills weren’t the best and only were successful when numbers were on their side, but recently, they had developed liquid projectiles that could burn skin or else blind their opponents.

And lastly, the North Wing, territory of Kurt Hummel.

Of the three leaders at Dalton, Kurt was the one who had been in power the longest. His boys specialized in weaponry of all types, swords, guns, bows and other various combat tools; Kurt was very skilled in the use of Sai Swords and had a pair hidden away in the air vent under his bed. It was hard as the members of the North Wing probably had it the hardest at Dalton; they were the farthest from the South Wing and had enemies on both sides that could ambush them at any given time. At least the East and West had North to buffer them from the enemy and secondly, weapons were prohibited at Dalton so even if one could get their hands on such a commodity, it was difficult to hide and train with the contraband. However, they boys made due with a steady supply of kitchen knives that they stole from the school and traded to each other.

It was hard to say when the feuding between the three sides had started exactly, so many boys filtered in and out of Dalton that no current student knew exactly what happened yet here Kurt was, standing in the middle of an empty dorm room, having just killed a boy in the style of one of Smythe’s men, hoping that the Clarington would declare war, leaving each other so drained of resources that Kurt and his boys could join and eliminate both at the same time. It was a risky plan, but Kurt wanted this to end on his terms and no leader liked loosing soldiers.

* * *

 

Three days passed until the body was discovered by a security guard who had been showing a new boy to his room. The boys had been gathered in the cafeteria having lunch when the announcement had been made over the building-wide PA system. From his seat in the North Wing side of the room, Kurt saw Hunter stand up from the table where his closest imformee’s were gathered and throw his coffee against the wall before strengthening his blazer and leaving the room.

It was usually quite loud in the cafeteria during meal time, good conversation had to cover up for the fact that the food was less than satisfactory; this time however, after the doors slammed shut after Hunter’s departure, a soft murmur swept over the room, students turning to their friends, asking the one question that was on everyone’s mind.

Who did it?

Kills inside of Dalton were rarer than one would expect but no one was stupid enough to strike preemptively, not without cause. It was more difficult than it seemed, trying to stay under the radar at reform school but under the right guidance and several months of training, even the wrongly convicted were tuned into masters of kidnapping, torture and interrogation.

There was always information to be learned, something to be gained, an upper hand to be won; in a world of shifting power, the leaders of the three wings had to everything they had to in order to survive, Even if it meant doing something drastic.

But it never meant killing.

Murder would put too much suspicion in the minds of the guards and the administration who, now that the boy had been killed, would be watching the students even closer than they had previous. But they were good at dealing in secret and knew how to work the system.

“Do you have any idea who did it?” Blaine asked, leaning across the table to talk to Kurt in an hushed whisper.

Smirking, Kurt, stabbed his fork into his salad, the lettuce and shrugged, giving Blaine a knowing look. “Of course I don’t,” he said calmly. “That boy, whatever his name is, looked like he was one of Clarington’s, what business would I have with them?” Blaine grinned wider and nodded.

“Of course forgive me.”

Blaine had been at Dalton longer than Kurt, and had acted as Kurt’s mentor his first few months at the school. When the North Wing’s leader was taken from Dalton and sent to county jail, it has been Blaine who had suggested Kurt for replacement; many had thought that Blaine himself was going to take the position.

Although small in stature, Blaine was very charismatic and had a way of making people listen to him without sounding overbearing; he was a natural leader but had seen something in Kurt. Originally a member of the West Wing, Blaine was a fierce fighter, highly skilled in the art of boxing he had been a valuable asset. Unfortunately for Clarington, Blaine had been transferred before he had been admitted and now only knew of the legends that Blaine was; on more than one occasion he had tried to coerce him into changing loyalties once more but Blaine wouldn’t hear of it. He loved being in the North Wing and was widely accepted despite his previous allegiance.

But that hadn’t stopped Hunter from trying to sink is claws into Kurt’s right hand man and the North Wing leader was not happy.

Unhappy enough to kill.

* * *

 

Sunday night, nine days after Kurt had first killed Jordan—he found out days later that that was the boy’s name—nearly a week since the announcement had been made and Kurt was getting ready for a meeting in the study hall, a neutral zone located on the top floor of the South Wing. A note had been delivered to him in the early hours of the morning, signed by Hunter Clarington himself. The note, written on a clean sheet of printer paper in black sharpie, requested that Kurt meet him at ten-thirty that night, ninety minutes after building wide lights out. It was also mentioned that Sebastian Smythe, the East Wing leader, was also invited to the meeting. Although the rules of Dalton were usually broken, there was a set of unwritten rules know only to the students that were always followed.

The first was now fighting allowed in the South Wing and the second was when one leader requested a meeting with the other two, the request was always granted. No exceptions.

So, that meant at ten o’clock that night, Kurt snuck out of his room and quietly ran down the hall, knowing all the blind-spots of the security cameras, and pried the vent off the ventilation return near the staircase and climbed inside. The journey through the ventilation system was a long one, Kurt needing to be a quiet as possible as he moved. It wasn’t uncommon for the boys to use this method of travel and throughout the night, bumping and shuffling could be heard in the ceiling. Another unspoken rule of Dalton was you never reported hearing these noises, never, but the air-vents crisscrossed the hallways where guards stood watch.

Five minutes until the designated meet time and Kurt pushed open the grate in the cafeteria, wincing as it clattered to the ground. He paused, hiding, but no footsteps could be heard; just to be safe, Kurt stuck his head out into the room, eyes used to the darkness, and looked around. Not seeing anyone, he stepped out and propped the vent grate against the wall, to be replaced when he left.

A soft chuckle came from Kurt’s left and his immediately turned to face the person, hand automatically going to his hip where his knife sheath was often clipped to his belt. But no such weapon was there. No weapons were allowed in these meetings; Kurt’s knives were still stored under his bed.

“Are you trying to get us caught Hummel?” Sebastian Smythe smirked, walking into Kurt’s line of vision. “That was quite the entrance, very impressive.”

“Fuck off Smythe,” he hissed in return, drawing himself to his full height. “I supposed you came in with less flair?” Kurt gave Sebastian a contemptuous once over and straightened his leather jacket with a sniff. “You must be jealous.”

A menacing grin graced Sebastian’s features, green eyes glittering in the low light filtering through the windows to the hall, bright lights outside the cafeteria throwing odd shadows throughout the room. “Hardly. You think I want glitter cannons exploding everywhere I walk? No thank you. Just keep your gay face and girl voice to yourself and we’ll be good.” He made an X with his two index fingers and held his hands in front of his chest as if whatever he thought Kurt had was contagious and his sign would keep him healthy.

“Afraid of catching the gay Smythe?” Kurt snapped, his voice getting higher, echoing off the dirty white tiles. “I was under the impression that you were as gay as a rainbow unicorn pooping glitter. Or is hitting on Blaine just an extracurricular activity for you?” He was seething; Clarington wasn’t the only one going after Blaine, Sebastian had been after him longer the Hunter had and Kurt was sick of it. Clearly Kurt had more than one thing to gain from the West and East Wings feuding.

“Well of course I’m hitting on your little boy toy Hummel, have you seen his ass? Very fine and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of fine asses. Some of those French boys, amazing in bed, but I bet Anderson could top them in—” 

But Sebastian was cut off by Kurt launching himself at him, both boys falling to the floor with a loud bang. Holding Sebastian by the throat, Kurt had him pinned to the ground, fist raised above him, poised to strike but they froze, hearing footsteps coming down the hall.

The door opened and the two boys dove under a table thinking that a guard had heard them and had come to investigate the source of the noise, but when the door clicked shut and the shadows settled a voice called out to them, a slight edge or humor to the tone.

“Smythe, Hummel, you can relax. The guards near here have been paid off, you can make as much noise as you want.” A pair of scuffed leather shoes was walking toward them and stopped at their table, Hunter Clarington bending down to smirk at the other two boys who were tangled together. “I didn’t realize you two were in the middle of something. I can come back later if you want to finish confessing your love for each other. Smythe are you Romeo? I suppose that would make Hummel Juliet. Or are you Tony and Maria?”

Sebastian growled and shoved Kurt away from him, sending the South Wing leader skidding out from under the table and across the tile floor. With a nasty look at Hunter, Sebastian crawled out from under the table and stood, face angry. “We’re not fucking dating Clarington,” he hissed at the new boy; Hunter grinned knowingly.

“Sure you aren’t. In a school full of boys, you’d expect there’d be more guys who’d like to take it up the ass. I suppose not even your good looks and charm are enough here, I didn’t think Hummel was your type.”

Kurt also stood and brushed the dirt and dust off his jeans, resisting the urge to punch Sebastian as he approached the other two boys. “His type is anyone conscious enough to scream out his name,” Kurt’s grin matched Hunter’s and he fixed Sebastian with a challenging expression, blue eyes dark and stormy in the light.

“Not desperate enough to fuck you Hummel,” Sebastian sneered. “And what about you Clarington, there aren’t any willing girls around here, not unless someone’s sister is willing to leave her family for a few minutes and shag you in the janitor’s closet. Who have you been getting it on with? Nick ? Jeff? Both of them? They never really struck me as the threesome type, but they’d never stray from each other.”

“I’m straight Smythe.”

“Sure you are. I bet one night with me and I bet I could change your mind.”

“Excuse me,” Kurt cut in. “But unless you brought us together to discuss our sex lives, there must have been a reason you called this meeting Clarington.” He looked between the two boys, eyes raised.

Hunter nodded and sat down at the end of one of the long tables, gesturing for Sebastian and Kurt to join him. They did, Kurt across from Hunter and Sebastian on top of the next table, legs dangling off the side as he leaned back on his hands.

“As you two have undoubtedly heard, one of my men was found dead the other day,” Hunter paused and fixed both boys with a cold look. They nodded and he continued, “And Flint just so happened to drop by the infirmary this afternoon and took the autopsy file. Can you guess that their findings were?” Both boys shrugged and Hunter produced a file from the inside of his sweatshirt. Giving Sebastian and Kurt a dis approving look, he set in on the table so Kurt could see and opened it up; much to Kurt’s discomfort, Sebastian slid off his table and stood behind him to read.

“Multiple lacerations to the arms and face,” Hunter started to recite, not looking at the file. “A stab wound to the stomach, several inches in depth but only over an inch wide, most likely the weapon is a hunting knife. The kill wound was a slit to the throat, execution style.” Kurt frowned, doing a very good job of acting like all of this was news to him. “But the knife work was sloppy, as if an amateur did it. They also tested his blood and stomach contents and found a rather interesting combination of chemical’s that weren’t a part of that night’s dinner.”

Hunter leaned across the table and flipped to another page in the file, allowing Kurt and Sebastian to read. “A combination of sodium hypochlorite and acetic acid were found in his system which could have just as easily killed him. I had no idea what those two chemicals were until I looked them up on the internet. Care to share Sebastian? That is you area of expertise.”

Sebastian’s eyes were cold as he fixed Hunter with at steely glare. “You think that I’m the one responsible for this? I would never kill without cause Clarington.”

“Oh you wouldn’t would you?” Hunter stood from the table, hands slamming against the flat surface, chair knocked back to the ground with the sudden move. “Chemical’s is what your wing specializes in isn’t it? Or am I to expect that someone under Hummel is that sloppy?”

Snapping, Sebastian leapt across the table at Hunter, hand’s wrapping around his throat.

The pair struggled on the ground, grunting as knee’s elbow’s or fists found flesh. Hunter managed to get Sebastian’s hands off of him, but he was bleeding from the mouth Sebastian’s fist having connected solidly with his face. Sebastian looked the same, nose bleeding all over the place but despite their injuries, they continued to fight.

Hunter had the advantage, after all he was skilled in hand to hand combat and stronger than Sebastian thanks to the steroids he’d been pumping into his body and his daily work outs in the weight room. Not be out done however, Sebastian was holding his own; his technique may not be as refined as Hunter’s, but with enough kicking and flailing of his arms, he was bound to get lucky and hit something.

One the sidelines, Kurt watched the scuffle, not bothering to lift a finger to help. Instead, he watched his two enemies duke it out on the floor, pleased that his plan had worked so well. The more he thought about it, the more ingenious it seemed and he wondered why no one had thought of it before. The fight continued, Kurt not looking away.

It seemed that Hunter was going to win, his stamina clearly better than Sebastian who was clearly getting tired. But before one side could concede, a flash of black metal shone in the dim light and a second too late, Kurt recognized what it was and opened his mouth to yell, but the words never got past his tongue. A loud bang exploded around the room and one of the boys fell to the ground, a pool a blood starting to form on the cold floor.

It was over.

One of the three boys was dead.

The next few days, all would be quiet; the boys would be given the chance to mourn their dead leader and his parents would be notified. The police would be called as soon as the body was found and an investigation would be opened, two deaths in less than ten days, even for a reform school it was suspicious.

People would be interviewed and security tapes would be reviewed, but nothing of substance would be discovered. Any possible leads would be followed only to run cold. The file that had been on the table had disappeared, burned in a fire, the ashes flushed down the toilet, lost forever.

The boys would know who was involved but not what had happened and the two survivors would be questioned by their followers, but then never said anything. Life resumed as usual, a new leader was elected to replace the deceased but all would be quiet. Plans continued to form, strategies were made but no one made a move. Not yet.

Something only happened when the authorities closed the case and left. A boy, one of the members of the wing who hadn’t lost their leader was found tied up and beaten in a classroom in the South Wing, what was supposedly neutral territory. Not anymore. All-out war erupted around Dalton, friends and comrades died and those lives were avenged then those lived were avenged in return. Blood filled the halls, the administration couldn’t control anyone any more.

All was chaos.


End file.
